Nuclear Fallout: The Wasteland
by The Invisible Sky Wizard
Summary: Another Fallout one. I wanted it to be original, but it fell into the actual game. Sort of. So I just went with it. Rated T. Rate and review if you want.


Nuclear Fallout: The Wasteland

Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout 2 or anything.

"War, war never changes. The end of the world occurred pretty much as we had predicted; too many humans, not enough space or resources to go around. The details are trivial and pointless, the reasons, as always, purely human ones. The Earth was nearly wiped clean of life. A great cleansing, an atomic spark struck by human hands, quickly raged out of control. Spears of nuclear fire rained from the skies. Continents were swallowed in flames, and fell beneath the boiling oceans. Humanity was almost extinguished, their spirits becoming part of the background radiation that blanketed the Earth.

A quiet darkness fell across the planet, lasting many years."

"Goddamn it, how long is this going to last?" A dark figure stood alone against the howling winds, the dust and sand blowing hard enough to cut at skin. Powerful, black Advanced Power Armor made of ceramic tiles protected the Enclave soldier from the harsh conditions of the wasteland. The mask was small enough just to fit the human head, with large eyeholes protected by thick yellow glass, a voice modulator to make every soldier sound male, and thick cords running from the top and into the oxygen tank at the back, giving it the appearance of a large bug. The body armor was thick, heavy and wide, allowing only slow movement with enough strength to protect the wearer as he blasted his way through hordes of enemies. It gave good protection against bullets, fire, explosions and plasma. It ran on a mini fusion reactor, giving it enough power to run a hundred years, with air conditioning and heat, some padding for comfort, and waste pouches, it was exclusive only to the Enclave, found at the Navarro base north of San Francisco. In both hands, the soldier held a powerful Gatling Laser, a rapid fire cannon that blasted anything in its waste to pieces, powered by Micro Fusion Cells and firing ten energy blasts per second.

Usually, Enclave soldiers patrolled the wasteland around the Navarro base in groups. However, the FEV nuclear bomb was nearing completion, and many of the troops had been relocated to the Oil Rig off the coast at the behest of Frank Horrigan. So, Rebecca, the soldier in the suit, on patrol by order of the base commander, was left with just her thoughts and miles and miles of dead earth, as she seriously doubted any person or creature would happen to cross her path any time soon. She was growing impatient, counting the minutes until she could return, but with all the excitement of the FEV virus almost complete, it was likely the few soldiers on patrol, her included, would be remembered, so she was pretty much stuck for the time being. She took a hand from the Gatling and set the end on the ground, holding onto it with one hand to give her a bit of a rest. Those things were damn heavy.

"They should have called all of us to the rig. Do they really think anyone has a clue what is about to happen? As if anyone could stop us anyway. Christ...!" She picked her Gatling up, and pointed it into the winds almost beyond her vision, thinking she saw movement . Seconds later, a rather large, mutated rat crawled into view, its skin hanging off its bones, shaking badly. It looked up at the soldier, gave a weak squeak, and rolled onto its side, dying. With a sigh of irritation, Rebecca set down her Gatling, half wishing for some greater form of excitement to show itself. She never saw the athletic figure sprinting toward the Navarro base at her back, never saw the gun in hand lifted her way. But she heard the shot fired just before it's armor-piercing bullet bore its way through the back of her mask, and then all fell dark as she slumped to the ground, dead as the rat that lay ahead of her.

"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats, and the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, and dry stone no sign of water."

Growling his displeasure, the chained Xarn tried to bite at his capturers, only to have his head yanked back by the shackle around his thick neck, and felt a shocking pain as a super-charged cattle prod came down on his scaly head. Through the shades of gray of his enhanced vision, his dark, strangely intelligent eyes looked upon them, beasts of thick hides and powerful weapons. He knew these Enclave soldiers, had been bred into captivity and escaped, only to be caught, years later. Taller than a Super Mutant, the deathclaw walked along on uncomfortably on his hindlegs, his forelegs stretched painfully to his sides by chains attached to large trucks driven by the soldiers, that even his awesome strength could not overcome, chains clinking with every movement. A reptile-like, wickedly horned head was bowed in defeat, his long, sharp teeth of no use. Hunched over, like all deathclaws, his dark orange hide was thick and scaly, with forelegs covered in coarse hair, chains wrapped several times around paws as big as a truck tire, his two feet long claws sawed off, and his powerful tail pulled back and tied to his torso. Every waking moment for him was pain. But now, the deathclaw was freed of these restraints, and kept in a large room with metal walls, and a bed in the corner. The bright lights burned his eyes, and every attempt to open or smash through the walls was met with failure.

Only hours before had his pack leader, Gruthor, sent him out into the wasteland to hunt for food, where the ground was cracked and dry, the long-dead trees petrified, the weeds tall, and miles of windy, howling hell in every direction. The vault he came from was unable to provide food as it's main computer seemed broke, and none of the giant lizards or humans that lived together inside could figure out the problem. And before he knew it, soldiers were upon him, and he was dragged along until he sat deep inside the Navarro base, a prisoner. A scientist at the base, Doctor Schreber, had requested a deathclaw be captured and brought to him. He knew why, as he and Schreber had spoken not long before. When the Enclave was looking for cheap, expendable soldiers, they chose the deathclaws. Large, strong and fast, with natural, built-in armor and weapons, they were an excellent choice, a near-perfect warrior of nature created already by science. Many thought the deathclaw race to be mutated Jackson's chameleons, changed by radiation. When the deathclaws were first taken, they were experimented on. The Enclave wanted them to be smart enough to follow orders, though not so much that they could see they were slaves. They failed. The deathclaws were perceptive, able to think and plan, learn, and even mimic human speech, much in the way a parrot does. They played stupid long enough so that they could escape. But now, they were perceived as mankind's greatest threat, a race of super-strong killers that could soon enough grow beyond genius level-intelligence and destroy mankind.

Xarn had discussed these things with Schreber, and when the scientist's fears were confirmed, Xarn was scheduled for extermination, and following, the destruction of the rest of the Deathclaw race, whether they were the intelligent ones created by the Enclave, or the mindless animals found in the wasteland. So he counted down the minutes until one of the grunts were sent in to try to kill him, and he would tear that unfortunate limb from limb, and continue, until his escape so he could take as many soldiers as he could and get back to his pack to warn them of the danger. But he didn't know that they were already dead. How many hours had passed? He wasn't sure. He just knew it seemed like forever. But then, finally, the door opened, and one of those bastards walked in, weapon in hand. He turned to his would-be killer and opened his maw, harsh words coming out as he mimicked human speech to talk to the soldier. "Hello. Have you come to free me, perhaps, or are you here to kill me?" When he learned the "soldier" was actually someone that had infiltrated the base, and was there to help him, he would have smiled if he could, and he pointed to the door. "Then open that door, there, so I can go back and warn my pack." The "soldier" crossed the room, and unlocked the door, opening it. Xarn turned and thundered out of the room, going down the hall and climbing up a ladder to the outside, heading back to Vault 13.

"Only there is shadow under this red rock, and I will show you something different from either, your shadow at morning striding behind you, or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

The once-simple tribal now a hero had traveled the desert for years now. His mission had seemed such an easy one, but to get there he had to do so many errands, favors, and jobs for people. A simple thing turned long, and hard. All the people he had to kill, the months of loneliness(except for his nights at The Cat's Paw), had hardened his heart. Every job and quest, all the books he read, puzzles to solve, had given him much experience in the years up to his departure from his tribe. He certainly wasn't the same man he was before. And during that time, he saw the true evils of man, soaked his hands in blood, and participated in the genocide of hundreds. And he loved every minute of it. He saw the twists and turns life could take, the reactions and consequences of his actions and words, seeming to watch it all from above(get it?). He had saved the lives of many, and taken the lives of others. Towns were saved because of his actions, civilizations fell because of his malevolence. From all the good he had done, and all the evil, the pain and suffering he had caused others, now people were nothing but things to be played with to him, to be destroyed.

His journey had taken him all around the wasteland, to a simple town of people in need of help, to a city and it's neighboring town of ghouls in dire need to rescue. Dooming them was his happiest memory. To a town full of ghouls and mutants, where he planted a bomb in the mine and killed the mutant workers. Ghouls and mutants, hell take them all. To a town of corruption, of murder, of drugs, of drinking, gambling and sex, governed by four "families", those gangsters. And how he had played them all against each other, taking what he needed from each and sentencing them to death. How he took pleasure in executing the head of each, whether by hand, trap, or even giving a gun to a small child and telling him to wave it around in front of daddy and pulling the switch. The evil bastard. He took drugs, he drank, he gambled, he became a porn star, he fought in the boxing ring, and murdered a gun store owner to take his belongings. This town was his favorite. He came upon a mining town in trouble, it's people flying on Jet, the gold production way down. And he did nothing. By leaving it along, he doomed yet another town. He came upon a city ruled by a government and assassinated some of it's more prominent neighbors, ensuring it would become a militia that would rule by force, and it's neighbor, a small settlement ruled by a raider that helped them all. He killed the raider, and they were left to fend for themselves.

And then he came upon the legendary Vault 13. He learned of it's peoples capture, and the deathclaw's reluctant involvement. He learned of the broken computer, and he did nothing. Instead, he murdered the intelligent deathclaws within, and the humans inside for good measure, again taking what he needed and leaving with the holy GECK. And now, in the town of San Francisco, he was ready to board a ship owned by vagrants. He was ready to save his tribe, and the whole world from the threat of the FEV virus. He would murder a president, destroy yet another reactor, and face off against a half-man, half-robot being named Frank Horrigan, before finally destroying an entire oil rig and killing hundreds of evil bastards in the process. And then he would turn on the people he had helped or destroyed, ready to send out a brand new wave of pain and suffering, before taking control of his tribe, and finally dying in his sleep of old age, the world glad to be rid of the sickest bastard it had ever seen.


End file.
